cliff.”
“Why?” Welles asked, frowning over his shoulder at the cliff some thirty feet away.
“Because they knew we could have found enough toeholds in the granite to climb up on our own.” She kicked the brick wall she was braced against, then started gently swaying. “No chance of that happening here.”
“Oh, wait, I have my phone!” Welles cried as he bumped into the wall while twisting to get past his harness to reach his pocket. “We can call someone to come get us down.”
Katy stopped swaying. “And just who are you going to call?”
Welles abandoned his pocket to grab the rope and brace his feet on the building again. Even from this distance, Gunnar could see the reflection of the kid’s scowl. “I don’t know about you, but this sure feels like an emergency to me. I say we show them by calling 911.”
Katy chuckled. “And who do you suppose dispatch will tone out?”
Welles went motionless. “Cripes,” he said, thumping his helmet against the bricks with a clearly audible groan. “Every last one of them knows I don’t like heights. ‘It’s only half as high as the aerial,’ they said. ‘MacBain won’t suspect a thing if you play the victim,’ they said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ they said.” He rolled his head to look at Katy. “They didn’t say they were pranking me, too,” he muttered as he rolled back. “I thought they were finally treating me like one of them.”
Gunnar saw several of the squad members shift uncomfortably, including Gretchen.
“They are,” Katy said as she crab-walked sideways and playfully punched his shoulder, making Welles lift his head. “They wouldn’t have involved you at all if they didn’t consider you a full member of the squad. They would have just come up with another prank.”
“If that’s true,” the kid said, his jaw cocked defensively, “then how come everyone always calls me Welles?”
“For the same reason we all call each other by our last names,” Katy said, letting herself swing away. “It’s a passive-aggressive sign of affection. Like another way of saying ‘I’ve got your back, buddy; just don’t ask to borrow my truck or date my daughter,’” she explained in a perfectly delivered male voice.
“Then why don’t they—and you—call me Ingersoll-Hoffenmyer?”
Yes, Miss Citizen Liaison, Gunnar silently drawled. Why?
Even though the reflection had grown distorted from the sun’s angle changing on the windshield, a blind man could have seen Katy’s surprise. In fact, it was a good thing she wore a helmet, because the chin strap was likely all that kept her jaw from hitting the ground.
“Welles is your first name?”
The kid nodded. “Welles Ingersoll-Hoffenmyer. My mom didn’t want to give up her maiden name when she got married, so they hyphenated,” he said as if by rote, apparently having had a lot of practice explaining why his name kept running into the address box on forms.
The entire team of eavesdroppers leaned forward as a single unit, trying to hear what Katy muttered, only to all flinch when the alarm suddenly sounded five freaking feet away.
“Attention Spellbound Falls Fire & Rescue. Spellbound Ambulance One is asked to respond to 624 Crabtree Lane for a fifty-two-year-old male, breathing but not responsive, with probable insulin reaction. Copy Spellbound Ambulance One: 624 Crabtree Lane, fifty-two-year-old male, probable insulin reaction. Piscataquis out, fourteen-twenty-three.”
“I’m on it!” Gretchen shouted—likely because she couldn’t hear her own voice—as she shot toward the door. She turned and gave everyone the once-over. “Higgins, it’s time you put all those pretty muscles to use,” she called out as she spun back to the door while gesturing for him to follow.
“Hey! Don’t leave without us!” Katy yelled from her lofty perch.
“Come on, guys!” Welles added frantically. “Don’t make me miss a call!”
“Dammit, you idiots,” Katy shouted, “get out here and untie these lines!”
Grinning, Russo slid open the screen, leaned out the window, and twisted to look up at the hose tower. “It’s only a forty-two-car pileup just north of East Podunk,” he called up to them. “Conroy and Higgins have it covered.” He pulled back inside, his grin widening at Katy’s colorful response, then leaned out the window again. “If you haven’t made it down by the time we’re done with supper, we’ll send up any leftovers,” he added, only to jerk back inside one second before a helmet bounced off the window jam. He’d been bluffing with the supper line, fully intending to help her if she struggled much longer, but if the woman was going to start chucking equipment at him, she could